


The Mockingbird's Perch

by KurotheDarkRingmaster



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KurotheDarkRingmaster/pseuds/KurotheDarkRingmaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the most vicious and strong birds must seek a perch, one in which they are able to rest their wearing wings and sharpen their talons. Many prefer perches in lofty trees, above the rest of the world below that may harm them. A perch which reminds those who seek to cause him harm, that it is already too late, for he has cast his shadow and in his wake you have fallen to your knees before him. </p><p>No one ever is weary of the mockingbird, not when there are so many lions about. </p><p>Yet, will this bird take pity on a wolf stranded in the lion's den and save her or will he destroy her in his wake?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mockingbird's Perch

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this scene and just had to post it, and with the recent season premiere, I felt now was the best time to do so. I do intend to expand it, however that will not occur until I finish one of my other works. I happen to love Lord Baelish as a character and felt he needed a moment all to himself.

**Prologue: The Mockingbird’s Perch**

The smell of pages and oak as the sound of scratching complimented by the distant crackle of flames licking the logs inside the hearth filled the room. Mint combined with the sweetest and most sensual of wines lingered, a scent that was powerful and as mysterious as the room’s owner. Waves caressing the shore as the winds wafted past the compartment disturbed the silks hanging in the windows. Books stacked on nearly every surface with pages sprawled before the Master of Coin as he continued to annotate the book. Lithe fingers wrapped around a quill as a quick wit made easy work of the monotones adjustments and records of the accounts. With each entry the balances would change and he sought to counterbalance assets with liabilities, credits with dreaded debits. Money, it was simple, and had become one of the things he could understand even in sleep. The Master of Coin had dark brown hair with a pair of graying patches at each temple, they looked as though they were silver wings of a bird.

A pair of gray-green eyes stared at the creamy parchment under his fingers, they were focused on a singular goal, one where the pages of the book would not be dipped in ink but soaked with blood. Now all he had to do was wait, nearly all of his pawns were in the city and with the arrival of a certain family he would be able to finally have all that he desired. A smirk curled his lips, lifting the corners of them in a teasing fashion as he placed his quill in its well and looked at the adjusted ledger. He looked over to his side and noticed a golden goblet with wine resting in it’s chalice, he slowly lifted it only to see his reflection in it’s polished surface. He had a mustache and trimmed goatee, it gave him the aura of an academic.

He wasn’t the broad beast of the court, he was strong but slight in build, which had made him appear unassuming. Few would ever consider the power locked inside his slight frame, or even believe it possible for a man such as he, to be even remotely a threat. The Master of Coin snapped the ledger closed and with grace slipped out of his chair and tucked the book under his arm, it was thick and bound in red leather with the famous lion pressed into the cover, evidence of it being the property of the Lannisters, but not the King. His steps were muffled by the soles of his boots as he stalked down the hallway, on trek that he was all too familiar with. The black silk which surrounded him, flowing from the high collar of his neck toward his ankles, billowed, whispering as it did so. The golden weave of his tunic peaked out of the sleeves of his doublet, a sign of his wealth, for the shirt had been made in Qarth – the only place where the thread was spun gold.

He turned the corner, his eyes sweeping over the courtyard filled with Lords and Ladies, entertaining themselves. He could hear their idle chatter, it was irritating, and pointless, especially those speaking of the future, with what he had in store it was senseless for them to think of such things. The rest of the Keep was silent, he paused before towering mahogany doors, their age showing in the crack that were beginning to appear in them. With practiced ease he pushed them open to reveal the room which housed the most important piece of furniture in the building.

It was odd really, how something so ghastly could have such importance. It sat at the highest point in the room, directly under a massive red stained glass window. His eyes were locked on it as he walked across the tan floors. His doublet sweeping as he did so past the decorative columns, he could see the court in session and the place in which he was required to stand when the Lords, Ladies and Small Council convened before the King of the realm. They would stand at attention in their finest garbs, all watching, waiting for a chance to climb higher up the ladder.

 

Chaos wasn’t a pit, it was a ladder, his ladder in which he would climb with his bare hands and smirks.

 

The jagged swords of the enemies of the fallen were fused together to shape the chair, it was harsh and imposing in presence. For some it served as a reminder of the past, others it was power, which they would flee from. Yet, for this clever man, with a silver mockingbird ever perched on the high collar of his doublet, it was something more. The Master of Coin slowly walked up the steps, the ledger in hand as he looked down at the throne.

 

It was more than a throne, it was a means to an end.

 

It was his revenge.

 

It was his desire.

 

He was going to risk everything,

just to obtain everything.

 

The Mockingbird smirked as he slowly touched the gnarled black chair, the symbol of power and strength. He wasn’t just a boy from the Fingers, and he was going to show them that.

All he had to do was wait, wait for the arrival of the wolves, and then he could truly move forward.

“Mr. Baelish,” called a squire causing the Keeper of Coin to pause and look over his shoulder. “The Queen has convened the council,” said the boy. Petyr Baelish nodded, he would be Lord soon enough, that was if he played it right. The kings death was the first step, his pieces were all on the board and just where he needed them to be.

 

“Patience, we are nearly there,” he said with a grin. He was going to make them all pay, he was going to do what he did best, fuck them. He was going to fuck them all.

 

With one final glance the Mockingbird looked at the throne, and smirked, now he just had to wait for the impulsive wolves to arrive. They would surly fall for his ruse, after all he was just an unassuming mockingbird. Every bird must perch after a while, to rest their wings, and sharpen their talons. Surly they would plenty sharp upon his arrival to his desire perch.

This mockingbird would do all he could to obtain what he desired, a perch that would remind people of his power and demonstrate his cunning. The Master of Coin was nice, but a mere steppingstone on the path toward a greater perch. A perch in which he could look down at the world below and remind them that he wasn't the little boy from the Fingers, he was a king.

 It wasn't a chair, it was the perch for a mockingbird, and the only one he would settle for.

He would have everything, the Iron Throne included.


End file.
